From a High Tower

by Mercedes Lackey

  She raised an elegant eyebrow, as if she expected Giselle to dispute with her, but frankly, Giselle felt simply too intimidated. It was very clear that although Rosamund was only a couple of years older, she was vastly Giselle’s senior in experience. Worldly and magical!

  “I could go—” she began, but Rosamund shook her head.

  “Please, don’t bother them now. Let them know over breakfast. Send a message to me at the Golden Sheep Inn. I am at my leisure right now, you folks have a show to run.” She smiled; it quite lit up her face, and Giselle felt herself relaxing a little. “Shall I let myself out?” the Earth Master continued. “It seems silly for you to try and squeeze past me just to open the door in such a small space.”

  “Please do,” she said, trying not to sound as intimidated as she felt.

  Rosamund chuckled a little, and bade her a good night and good rest.

  Giselle sat back down again and poured herself a second cup of tea, feeling even more exhausted than before. Rosamund had to be the most forceful personality she had met since Mother died! And it wasn’t as if she had tried to be intimidating, either, she merely exuded sublime self-confidence and an aura of being in charge.

  I doubt anyone has ever dismissed her as being “just a girl,” she thought, with more admiration than resentment. If she had been in my shoes, Cody wouldn’t have tried to pass her ideas off as his own. He wouldn’t have needed to. She had no doubt at all that when Rosamund spoke, people listened.

  Was that an aspect of Earth Magic? It might be. Certainly Tante Gretchen had commanded the respect of all those young army lads.

  At any rate, after dealing with such a formidable personality, on top of the exhausting day she’d had already, she felt a bit limp. She had a quick wash, and crawled, rather than jumped, into bed.

  In the morning, it might have seemed like a dream, if it had not been for the two unwashed teacups on her little table. No matter how tired she had been, there was no chance she would have been so addled as to pour herself two cups of tea.

  She closed her eyes and called a sylph. One flitted in through the window over the bed almost immediately; this was a tiny little thing, with brown wings with orange spots. It hovered expectantly, orange hair floating about its naked little body.

  “Would you be so kind,” she said aloud, “As to tell Chief Leading Fox that I will need to speak with him urgently over breakfast? And if you can get Captain Cody’s attention, tell him the same?”

  “Yes!” the little thing said gleefully, and darted out the window again.

  Goodness. That was a lot of enthusiasm . . .

  She got another washup—it was getting warm enough now in the mornings that the tepid water in her pitcher was quite warm enough—and got into her canvas skirt, shirt, and soft Indian boots. After the exertions and surprises of yesterday, she was famished.

  Before she had gone three steps, the sylph was back. “They will meet you at the back table!” the little thing said, and sped off, without even asking for a treat of magical energy.

  The “back table” was the one farthest from the tables where the food was dished out. It was generally the last to be filled, which made it a good place to have a semiprivate conversation.

  She hurried off to the mess tent, only to find the other three already waiting there with solemn expressions on their faces. She got her food and joined them, and before she even sat down, Cody spoke.

  “So, we intrudin’ on somebody’s claim, or what?” he asked, looking concerned.

  “I tried to explain, but I have an insufficient knowledge of how these things work in the Black Forest,” added Kellermann.

  She blinked several times, as she tried to sort out just what Cody was asking. Finally a possible definition for the word “claim”—related to gold and silver prospecting—surfaced in her memory.

  “The Brotherhood of the Foresters is something like sheriffs and deputies,” she said, slowly. “It is not that they have staked a claim to an area, it is that they have taken the job of protecting ordinary folk from the bad magic and bad magicians within that part of the country. This is usually done by groups known as Hunting Lodges. The Brotherhood of the Foresters is somewhat unusual in that their area extends to the entire Schwarzwald, not merely one city or town within it.”

  “So—like Texas Rangers.” Cody relaxed. “So a gunslinger comes t’town, sheriff comes t’make sure he ain’t gonna make trouble, that it?”

  “That’s close enough,” she decided aloud. They certainly don’t need to know about my . . . misadventure. “My Mother was known to the Brotherhood, and it was two of their number that taught me to shoot. When she died, I found myself without income to support myself. I was advised to come ask the Brotherhood for their advice, and possibly help.” True enough, although that came afterward . . . “I was on the way to one of the Lodges when I encountered the show, and the rest, you already know.”

  “So, what’s this feller got t’say about you—an’ us?” Cody wanted to know.

  “First of all, he is a she. Her name is Rosamund von Schwarzwald and she is . . . very highly placed,” she warned. “She is a Hunt Master, someone who decides when a threat is dangerous enough to warrant sending an entire Hunting Party instead of a single member of the Brotherhood, and the person who would lead that Hunting Party. Other than that, I believe she merely wishes to meet with you and assess you.”

  Cody’s face registered extreme surprise, Kellermann’s only a bit less. Only Leading Fox seemed unperturbed. “She!” Cody exclaimed. “You folks let wimmen . . .” He cut off whatever he was going to say. “Huh. Ah guess. When’s she wanta meet up?”

  “As soon as you have the time. She told me herself that as we are the ones with a show to put on, and she is at her leisure, you should be the ones to choose the time.” It was both gratifying and a little amusing to see Cody at a loss for once. After having him take credit for her ideas, having to deal with a female who outranked him took the sting out of her wounded pride.

  “She’s where?”

  “The Golden Sheep Inn, in the town,” Giselle told them. “I believe that she can speak with my sylphs; I can easily send her a message.”

  Cody rubbed the side of his head, pushing up his hat slightly. “Well. Best deal with this right quick, I guess. After the second show an’ tours, we’ll come t’her. Figger just after sundown.” He looked to the other two, who nodded agreement. “Don’ want t’put ’er off and make ’er think we got no manners.”

  “That is probably wise,” Kellermann agreed. “The Brotherhood’s word is law where magic in the Schwarzwald is concerned. And to send a Hunt Master . . . you do not wish to insult her.”

  Cody took a long breath. “Right. Well, we got a show to put on. Better get to’t.”

  The four of them made their way from the show enclosure into the town, following the guidance of one of Giselle’s sylphs. They attracted curious glances from the townsfolk, since all four of them were wearing their best. Cody was resplendent in his white, fringed doeskin outfit, with a matching hat. Leading Fox was equally resplendent in a costume Giselle had never seen him in before: a beaded buckskin version of Cody’s costume, with a colorful blanket, his hair adorned with eagle feathers. Kellermann looked plain by comparison in his sober best suit.

  And she—well, she had been torn. Whether to keep up the illusion that she was the American Rio Ellie, or wear the loden-green hunting costume that Tante Gretchen had given her. . . .

  In the end, she decided that the illusion was more important as far as the townsfolk were concerned. And as for Rosamund herself, well, wearing her Western gear would make it clear where Giselle’s alliances lay.

  The sylph that guided them was a night-sylph, an odd one, actually, since this one was fully clothed. She had midnight-blue wings like lacework, a long, flowing midnight-blue gown, and raven hair that streamed behind her as she fle
w, looking back over her shoulder to be certain they were following. Only she and Fox could see her, of course.

  The townspeople did not pretend that they were not startled and pleased to see the quartet, although Kellermann was largely ignored. There was no effort at being polite, either; there was a great deal of pointing and whispering.

  Leading Fox ignored it, striding after the sylph, full of dignity. Cody, however, went into his arena persona: smiling broadly, waving, even pulling off his hat and bowing deeply to particularly pretty women.

  The particularly pretty women generally blushed, smiled back, and giggled. The men with them were not nearly so amused, though they took some pains to hide their displeasure.

  Fortunately, Cody didn’t follow through on any of his flirtatious bows, just kept moving.

  The sylph brought them down cobblestoned streets of black-beamed, white-plastered houses and shops. Giselle tried not to look longingly at the shops . . . now that she actually had a little money to spend . . .

  No, I must be good. I must save for winter.

  They turned a corner, and there, about halfway down the street, was a hanging sign with a yellow sheep painted on it. And painted on the white plaster of the walls were garlands and flowers, and pictures of people eating and drinking.

  The sylph flew up and away, no longer needed. Captain Cody eyed the sign, then regarded the painted drinkers with approval. “I think I’m likin’ our choice pretty well,” he drawled, smiling.

  “Just remember,” Kellermann cautioned. “You’ll probably have to pay for what you drink.”

  “Killjoy,” Cody muttered, as Kellermann waved at her to go inside first.

  Inside, Giselle sniffed the air, then took a deeper breath with approval. She had seen rather too many . . . poorly kept inns. This one, however, would have met with even Mother’s approval.

  The common room was spacious and clean, with wooden floors, wooden ceilings, and plastered walls with more paintings of happy people on them. The paintings looked old, much older than the ones outside; they were much more stylized, more like the illuminated letters in old manuscripts. Or actually . . . now that she came to think about it, the decorations were almost exactly the sort of thing you saw on elaborate beer steins! Then again, the ones outside were subject to the wind and weather, and presumably every so often had to be repainted. These probably dated from when the inn became an inn. There was a huge fireplace in one wall, which probably held enormous fires in the winter. And there was a counter across the back, with big ornamental steins on it and three barrels beneath it.

  The furnishings were simple: wooden benches and wooden tables with candles stuck in their own wax in the middle. Many were already occupied with people smoking, eating and drinking. Two pretty young women, both blond and looking like sisters in their black dirndls, white blouses, and red aprons, bustled among the tables laden with heavy wooden trays holding food and drink.

  As they stood in the doorway, one of the girls unloaded her tray at a table and turned toward them. “You’re expected!” she said cheerfully. “Come this way!”

  She moved off as Captain Cody eyed her swaying hips with approval. Then he seemed to come to himself and started off after her. Giselle rolled her eyes and followed, the others trailing after her.

  The girl brought them to a private room, just off the main one; the door to this room was standing wide open. Like the main room, the walls were decorated with paintings of scrollwork and hunters and their game. It was just big enough to hold a table and benches, and Rosamund was waiting there for them, seated at the end of the table, with food and drink in front of her.

  So were four more beer steins, two pitchers of beer, four place settings, and big platters of steaming sausages, potatoes, bread, butter, cheese, and kraut. The aromas made Giselle’s mouth water; they’d had to leave without eating, and she had been hoping that since they were meeting at the inn, she might be able to get a sausage or two.

  “I supposed you might have to hurry off without getting any dinner, so I took the liberty of ordering you some,” Rosamund said. She gestured at the food and drink. “Close the door behind you, sit, and eat. We have plenty of time for talk.”

  Captain Cody did not hesitate for a moment, and as Kellermann closed the door he moved right along the table. He sat down at Rosamund’s right hand as Giselle sat at her left, took a fork, and stabbed some bratwurst, transferring them to his plate. The other two sat down, and Giselle got sausage, potatoes, kraut and rye bread, unspeakably happy to be partaking of a meal that was homey and familiar.

  “So,” Rosamund said, and suddenly switched to English. “First of all, let’s conduct our discussion in your language. Just in case someone is listening. It would be very unlikely for anyone else in this inn to know it.”

  “That is a wise precaution,” Giselle replied in the same tongue. She did not ask how Rosamund knew English; that was fairly self-explanatory. Unlike Leading Fox, Rosamund would have had no qualms whatsoever about getting one of her Elementals to extract a new tongue from Giselle, Fox, or even Captain Cody.

  After all, she was a Hunt Master. . . .

  “And while you are eating, you can tell me about yourselves,” she continued. And her eyes glinted. “Everything, if you please.”

  But Captain Cody only laughed. “Sure thing, sheriff,” he said genially. He looked around the table, cut off a big bite of sausage and ate it, then took a pull from his beer. “Reckon I’ll go first.”

  “No, I will, I have less to tell,” said Kellermann. “You all eat, please.”

  Well, that completely suited Giselle, who contentedly dug into the sausage and kraut and spicy mustard to her heart’s content.

  “I am liking this food and drink,” Fox said to her quietly in Pawnee. “This beer seems stronger. Should I be wary of the drink?”

  “Somewhat,” Giselle cautioned, remembering from Karl May books that Indians had problems with alcohol. Evidently that part was true. “It is not as strong as . . .” She searched for the word. “. . . the water that tastes bitter and burns. But enough will act upon a man like loco weed upon a horse.”

  “I shall take care, then.” He nodded, and had more sausage. “But this is most excellent, as are the sour strings. They are like the white man’s pickles. Very good.”

  “Sauerkraut,” she said, and turned her attention to Rosamund.

  The Hunt Master did not betray anything as she listened to the others give their stories and summarize their abilities. Well . . . all but Fox, who went last.

  The Indian sighed with content, and put down his knife and fork before taking up the narrative. “I am a Medicine Chief. I believe that is the same as your Elemental Master. However, my spirit creatures are not the same as yours. Mine are nahurac of the Air, but they are Spirit Animals like unto the natural ones.” He paused a moment. “I have had power of all of the nahurac, but the ones that speak most to me, and grant me the greatest power, are those of the Air, the birds and the insects.”

  “Huh,” Rosamund said, surprised. “I don’t believe I have ever seen that. Well, go on.”

  “Some I can still summon in this land of yours. Some I cannot. Some I have not tried. Otherwise, I seem to be able to control the forces of the Air itself, as if I was at home.” He shrugged. “And that is all I can say.”

  “It’s enough, thank you, Leading Fox.” Rosamund took time for a drink of her beer. “Well, you all understand that you are entering an area that is under the protection of the Brotherhood of the Foresters. What you do not understand, I suspect, is why it is under our protection.”

  “Well, ’cause you’re the sheriff,” Cody said, as if that was obvious. “You’re the law in these parts.”

  “No,” Rosamund said sternly. “It is because this part of the world has seen four thousand years of continuous magic use . . . and I would say that at least half of that was magic in u
se by bad people. There are things living here. Bad things. Old things that were once gods, and half of those were gods of evil. There are pockets of bad magic. Elementals that, themselves, are evil. This is an ancient forest, it holds many things, and it is easy for them to hide here. Just by being here, you might attract them. Just by doing the wrong thing in the wrong place, you can awaken things that are sleeping. There are thousands of years of blood magic in this land. At least half of that was done purely for the purposes of raising power to harm and destroy, and I do not believe I need to tell you what that means . . .”

  Giselle swallowed. Mother had warned her about such things. The forest around the abbey was full of dangerous creatures, made more dangerous by the practice of evil and blood magic in the distant past. Mother had speculated that this might have been why the abbey had been established there in the first place, as a bastion of light against the darkness.

  The others, Kellermann and Cody, at least, nodded. Fox looked thoughtful. She wondered what he was thinking. Kellermann sat back in his chair and fired up a pipe; Cody poured himself another beer.

  The serving girl came in then, and asked if they needed anything else. Rosamund paid for their feast and waited while she cleared things away, leaving behind only the beer.

  “So, here is the situation I find myself in,” Rosamund continued, when she had gone. “I’m satisfied that your intentions are good, but intentions are just not enough to safeguard you or anyone else in the Schwarzwald. The problem that I have is, can I let you go on, deeper into the Schwarzwald without supervision, when you have no idea what you are likely to encounter? Or, more importantly, stir up?”

  They all looked at each other, nonplussed. “We haven’t had any trouble so far,” Cody finally pointed out. “None of us have done much magic, other than that odd bit of Air stuff that Fox and Ellie do, an’ that’s only in the shows.”